


We Can But Hope

by queen_scribbles



Category: Speaker - Rhi Reid
Genre: Gen, Late Night Conversations, Siblings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-12 02:47:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28503252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queen_scribbles/pseuds/queen_scribbles
Summary: Insomnia's a bitch. But slightly better with company.
Relationships: Speaker & Seer





	We Can But Hope

**Author's Note:**

> belated cross posting from tumblr. ;)

The TV was already on when he came down the stairs, and Phillip winced at the mixed blessing it heralded. He yawned and ran one hand through his hair as he headed toward the soft glow spilling from the living room.

Steph sat in the middle of the couch, feet pulled together and knees spread like wings to take up half the space. She had one of their grandmother’s crocheted throws loosely around her shoulders and her hands wrapped around a half-full mug of tea. The light from the screen was enough to show her far-off stare--and the dark circles under her eyes. Samson lay on the floor off to the side, smokey tail whisking against the floor.

“You, too, huh?” Phillip asked around another yawn as he leaned against the wide door frame. He hated that she was awake--especially knowing the likely cause--but it would be nice having company.

Steph started out of whatever reverie had claimed her, her tea sloshing with the motion, and blinked at him. “Phillip.” Her gaze darted to the TV and she wrinkled her nose apologetically. “Sorry if I woke you.”

He shook his head, pushing his glasses up so he could rub his eyes, gritty from his interrupted sleep. “Nightmares.”

[[MORE]]

Steph rolled her eyes with a huff. “Of course it was.” She shifted to tuck her legs closer, feet both out to one side now, and patted the couch next to her with the hand not still curled around her mug.

Phillip pushed off the wall to accept her wordless invitation. “This was actually my plan, too,” he admitted, plopping on the couch. “What’re you watching?”

“Great minds...” Steph chuckled dryly. “And some 90′s sitcom. I needed something funny, low stakes, and predictable.” She leaned against his shoulder as soon as he was settled in. “Especially with...”

“Yeah,” He murmured through an almost-yawn. “You’d think after three nights in a row I’d be tired enough to sleep like the dead no matter how bad they get.”

“Three?” He could hear the arched brow in her voice. “This was the first for me.”

_Good._ “Lucky,” he snorted, with sardonic humor covering his relief it wasn’t hitting her so hard this time.

“Or just a delayed start,” Steph countered.

“Hey, I thought you were the optimist here,” Phillip joked, wrapping his arm around her shoulders as she got comfortable.

“Oh, yes, b’cause you’re such a cynic,” she snarked, giggling at the end. “God, I can’t even say it with a straight face!”

“Hey, it’s hard to be an optimist at” --a glance toward the grandfather clock was followed by a groan--”2:37 am when you’re sleep deprived,” he protested, only half joking.

Steph chuckled and patted his knee. “Watch the sitcom, little brother. Maybe the kitschy canned humor will improve your outlook.”

He laughed and rested his chin atop her head. “We can but hope. And maybe the predictability will lull you to sleep.”

“We can but hope,” she parroted, equally glib as she yawned wide enough to crack her jaw.

They lapsed into silence after that; Phillip absently scratching Samson’s ears upon nudging request--one good thing about ghost dogs, they didn’t have cold noses--as he and Steph watched a whole string of decidedly predictable, definitely kitschy episodes. It took three before Steph started to relax against him, another two before he had to rescue her now-cold tea as she drifted off, and a further three before his own eyes started to feel heavy. Not wanting to disturb Steph--deep asleep and snoring just a little against his shoulder--he turned the TV down almost silent and leaned his head back against the couch cushions. He had to shift slightly lower to make it more comfortable, and froze as Steph moved in her sleep. Fortunately, it wasn’t enough to wake her. 

The last thing he was aware of before drifting off was Samson giving a contented _wuff_ that came from the far corner of the room even though the dog’s head rested across Phillip’s feet. He couldn’t help but smile, even half-asleep, as he let his exhaustion claim him. Maybe it would stick this time, with his sister asleep half on top of him and the TV droning softly in the background.

He could only hope the crick in his neck when he woke wouldn’t be _too_ bad.


End file.
